


A Place to Run Wild

by ayoungrat



Category: Shameless (US), True Blood
Genre: Crossover, Drug Use, Fluff, Hallucinations, M/M, sex on drugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:33:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayoungrat/pseuds/ayoungrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terry sends Mickey on a run to Louisiana for 30 vials of vampire blood. Mickey brings Ian along. What? Someone's gotta hold the map.</p><p>(In order for Shameless fans who don't watch True Blood to enjoy this, all you need to know is that, in the TB world, vampire blood (aka V) is an illegal substance and used as a recreational drug by humans.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get Un-Busy

**Author's Note:**

> "If vampire blood is consumed by a human (or any other creature) in a small dose (one or two drops), it will heighten the senses, increase strength, make an intense sexual experience, and cause hallucinations. The effects are different with each person; however, if the blood is taken in a large dose, it causes several different effects, such as healing someone who has injuries, even if they are dangerously close to death, and metaphysically or spiritually bond the drinker with the vampire in question. If taken in a large dose when there is no injury on the human, they will have an extremely increased libido. "

    Mickey's already in a shitty mood when Terry barges through the front door and barrels into the kitchen. Mickey sits at the kitchen table, eating left over pizza from last night while Beth sits in her highchair and drinks apple juice.  
  
    Terry grabs a beer and slams the fridge, turning toward his son. "Need'ya to go on a run for me." He huffs bluntly, gulping half his beer in one go.  
  
    Mickey doesn't look up at Terry as he bends over to pick up Beth's dropped sippy cup and hands it to her, lightly tickling under her chin and receiving a loud yelp of laughter. "Where?" Mickey replies monotonously, assuming he's gotta go a couple cities over or something.  
  
    "Louisiana."  
  
    Mickey scoffs as if Terry's joking. "The fuck's in Louisiana?"  
  
    "V." Mickey gazes up at his father at the sound of that. He'd heard some really weird shit about that stuff and he was surprised that Terry wanted to have anything to with a _"drug for homos and pervs,"_ as he put it.  
  
    "Since when the hell do we sling vampire blood?" Mickey asks, his brows furrowed, not paying attention to Beth, who's taking large sucks of juice and letting it dribble down her shirt.  
  
    The answer should be obvious, tho. Vampire blood is the most highly profitable, illegal drug on the market.  
  
    The question earns Mickey a smack upside the head, Terry's usual answer for everything he doesn't feel like explaining - or doesn't know how to. Mickey scowls toward the table, his jaw clenched, trying to stifle his anger. He should lay this fucker out right now, but his daughter's in the room; it doesn't feel right. "You leave tonight, get there tomorrow, pick the shit up, and bring it back. Simple."  
  
    Mickey scoffs, "If it's so _simple_ , why not just send Iggy and Joey?"  
  
    Again, no answer.  
  
    Terry pulls out a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket and sets in on the table in front of Mickey. It has the address of where Mickey's supposed to go as well as the name of who he's supposed to pick it up from.  
  
    Mickey glances at the paper and then back to Terry. "You already pay the guy?"  
  
    Terry takes another swig of beer and shakes his head. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a thick roll of bills held together with a rubber band and sits it next to the piece of paper. "Be back by Monday," he insists and heads back out the front door.  
  
    "Fuck," Mickey sighs at his impending task, gripping a hand around his neck and looking towards the ceiling. This is surely gonna to ruin his whole weekend - not that he had anything special planned, except to fuck, sleep, and hang out with the rugrat.  
  
    His thoughts are interrupted as he hears Beth make light popping sounds with her mouth. He turns to her, snorting as she crosses her eyes and makes a fish face. She seems to mock him with her head tilting from side to side, bouncing her cheeks off her shoulders, a smug look on her face. "Fuck you," Mickey chuckles out, shaking his head before leaning over and kissing one of her chubby cheeks; Beth giggles loudly at the tickle of her daddy's stubble.

 

* * *

  
    Ian tries to hide his smile when he sees Mickey saunter into the Kash & Grab and stand in front of the counter. "The hell are you doing here?" He smirks, assuming the older boy's come for a quick make out and a screw in the back room.  
  
    Ian had come home just before Beth was born, which was right around the same time all the vampers started migrating to the northern parts of the country. He'd made up with Mickey and they'd been in a steady relationship ever since - whatever that meant for two people in this neighborhood. Ian had grown to at least not loathe the very core of Lana - and how could he not fall head over heels in love with Beth?  
  
    "Goin' out'a town," Mickey grumbles, not making eye contact.  
  
    "Oh yeah? Where?" Ian asks monotonously, flipping through his magazine.  
  
    "Louisiana," Mickey answers, waiting for Ian to look at him.  
  
    Ian immediately starts cracking up at the thought of Mickey being in a southern state with a bunch of rednecks, even though he technically was the northern equivalent. "What for?" Ian tries to catch his breath.  
  
    "V."  
  
    Ian's eyes grow wide, although he keeps laughing. "Holy shit, really?"  
  
    "Yeah, I gotta drive fifteen fuckin' hours for like 30 vials of the shit," Mickey mumbles through clenched teeth, rolling his eyes. "Fuckin' bullshit."  
  
    Ian furrows his brows. "Don't they have distributers in Chicago? What do you have to go all the way down there for?"  
  
    Mickey shakes his head, "Best shit's in the south. It's a lot more pure," he says, squinting his eyes and rubbing his thumb against his first two fingers. "A lot of the stuff up here is like 90% cow's blood."  
  
    "Shittt," Ian replies, leaning back in his chair. "Well… I'll miss you." Ian loved the fact that he could say that now without getting threatened to have his tongued ripped out. Now, all he typically gets is a low grunt, or a simple 'fuck off.'  
  
    "Nah… you won't." Mickey glances away and makes a face like he's tasting sour gummy worms, grimacing at his following statement. "'Cause you're comin' with me," he seems to reluctantly breath out.  
  
    "Is that so?" Ian scoffs, shocked at Mickey's invitation. "Pretty sure you're Dad's not gonna want some fag tagging along with you guys."  
  
    "They're not comin,' it's just me."  
  
    Ian gives a smug smirk and then leans forward, resting his chin in his hands daintily, his elbows planted on the counter, batting his eyelashes. "Are you offerin' to take me away for the weekend, Mr. Milkovich?" He asks is a cute, southern belle accent.  
  
    "Fuck you," Mickey almost blushes as he turns away again, a pesky smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I need someone to read the map."  
  
    "Oh yeah? And what if I'm busy?" Ian teases.  
  
    Mickey leans in slowly, so their faces are only inches apart, and whispers "Well… get un-busy," quickly glancing at the front door before planting a quick kiss on the redhead's lips. Mickey backs away from the counter, giving Ian a full view of him, licking at the taste of Gallagher on his lips. "Pick you up at 7."  
  
    Ian grins wide and watches as Mickey strides out the store, checking out his cute ass and excited to have it all to himself for the next few days.  



	2. Maybe It'll Be Fun

    They arrive in Bon Temps late in the afternoon, the next day. During the whole trip, they stopped once for gas and twice for a bang in the backseat.  
  
    Mickey pulls up to the address written on the piece of paper that Terry had given him. It's a small, slightly rundown house with a few shrubs and plants surrounding it. "Wait here," Mickey says, tossing his cigarette out of the car window and opening the door. Ian does as he's told and sits quietly in the car.   
  
    Mickey walks up the stairs to the front porch and knocks on the door. Moments later, the door opens, revealing a tall, muscular black man wearing a black and silver head scarf, black eyeshadow, black nail polish and a chain with an _'L'_ pendant. Mickey can't help but snort at this faggot's ensemble; no shirt, denim vest, baggy jeans and a large, glitzy belt buckle.  
  
    "Ooh, someone out there must be lookin' out for this bitch today, honey" The man murmurs, snapping his fingers and winking towards the sky. He looks Mickey up and down, his eyes growing lustful and seductive.  
  
    Mickey snorts again. "You, uh… you Lafayette?"  
      
    "Sugar, I can be whoever you want me to be," Lafayette replies, gently knocking his knuckle against Mickey's chin. He makes an _'mmm'_ sound as if he's just tasted something delicious, "...or _what_ ever."  
  
    "Uh, Lafayette's fine." Mickey's tries to be somewhat polite, aware of what's to come if he goes back to Terry empty handed.  
  
    "And who might you be, sweetheart?"  
  
    "Milkovich," Mickey states, assuming Lafayette's heard the name before.  
  
    "You sounded older on the phone," Lafayette points out, opening the door wider and gesturing for the boy to come in. Mickey steps into the living room, almost laughing at all the leopard print shit this dude's got.   
  
    Mickey doesn't respond; he knows it would be pretty pathetic as well as unprofessional to tell Lafayette he's Terry's son. "Sit down for a minute," Lafayette insists, motioning toward the couch as he turns his stereo down a bit. Mickey does so, glancing at Lafayette's shrine to numerous deities. "You want a drink?"  
  
    Mickey shakes his head, not wanting to seem to eager to leave. "No, thanks."  
  
    Lafayette walks over to the kitchen area, opens the fridge and retrieves a small cooler, bringing it back to Mickey. "This what you came for?" He asks, setting the cooler on top of the coffee table in front of Mickey.  
  
    Mickey opens the cooler and counts 30 vials of vampire blood. "Why so small?" He questions, holding up one of the cylindrical vials in the light.  
  
    "That's 30 vials of pure vampire blood from the heart of Louisiana, sugar. Either you's a V addict… or a V virgin." Mickey darts his eyes from Lafayette back to the vial, almost embarrassed. "Shit," Lafayette laughs at Mickey, "You gone be selling this stuff, and you ain't ever had none? That's a fuckin' trip."  
  
    "Well, what the fuck's so great about it anyway?" Mickey accidentally barks back.   
  
    Lafayette continues laughing as he reaches across the table and picks up a small, silk box. Mickey stares at the box as it's opened, revealing a small pile of red powder. The table's already littered with other odds and ends of paraphernalia. Lafayette picks up a small baggie and and dips it into the pile of red dusk, scooping up no more than a thimble's worth into it. He seals the bag and hands it to Mickey. "For your trouble, baby."  
  
    Mickey assumes correctly that this is the same vampire blood, only in powder form. He's heard about the powdered version. You put single drops of V onto an aspirin, grind it up and snort it. It's supposed to give a fuller effect or some shit.  
  
    Mickey nods a quick 'thanks' and pulls the same roll of bills Terry gave him out of his pocket. He places it in Lafeyette's hand. "And for yours," he says, smirking a bit.   
  
    Mickey picks up the cooler and heads toward the front door, Lafayette following behind. The Milkovich boy only manages a few steps out the door before Lafayette calls out "You gonna want'a to do that with someone you fuck, ya hear?"  
  
    Mickey turns around, meeting Lafayette's wise smirk with a confused stare. "Why's that?"  
  
    Lafayette gives a quick glance over to Ian, who's still in the car, and laughs again. "'Cause, sugar, you snort that stuff, fuckin' is _all_ you gonna wanna do."  
  


 

* * *

  
      
  
    It starts to get dark as Mickey and Ian pull up to a cheap motel in town. They pay for a room where Mickey immediately transfers the cooler of blood from his car to the small fridge, keeping it fresh. They both sit on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Ian's lights a cigarette, takes two puffs and passes it to Mickey.   
  
    "Hey, thanks for chippin' in for the room," Mickey mumbles, taking a drag and placing the cigarette between Ian's lips.   
  
    Ian takes a drag and shakes his head. "No problem, man."  
  
    "Oh, yeah," Mickey remembers, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the small baggie of powdered V. "I forgot."  
  
    "What is that?" Ian asks, brows furrowed.  
  
    "Powdered V. The guy gave it to me since I'd never tried the stuff."  
  
    Ian laughs, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and stubbing it into the ashtray. "Are you gonna do it?"  
  
    "Shit, I dunno. Said I was supposed to take it with someone I fuck."  
  
    "Bullshit," Ian laughs, slapping Mickey's shoulder with the back of his hand.  
  
    "Nah, I'm serious, man," Mickey laughs too. "It's supposed to make sex like _'other-worldly'_ or some shit. Plus it makes you hallucinate like a motherfucker, so that sounds fun." He shrugs. There's a long pause pause before Mickey glances at Ian's face and asks "Wanna try it?"  
  
    Ian stares at Mickey for a moment, his face growing nervous. "I dunno, man. I heard about this guy who took V and got such a relentless hard on, he had to get the blood from his cock drained… _twice._ "  
  
    "Dude, that guy took a whole vial, this stuff here has like three drops at most."   
  
    Ian takes the bag into his hands a looks at it closely, pondering. Mandy said she does this with Lip once a week and that it's awesome. Then there was that one time when everyone could hear an unfortunately familiar buzzing sound coming from Fiona's room _hours_ after she'd taken two drops and locked herself in there. Shit, Kev's been doing it ever since they started selling Tru Blood at the bar.  
  
    "Look, man," Mickey says, pulling Ian from his inner-debate, "we don't have to. It was just an idea. Forget about it." The hoodlum takes the package from Ian's hand and tosses it on the side table next to the bed. He turns on the teeny television and begins mindlessly flipping through channels, while Ian fixes his eyes on the small plastic bag, still thinking.   
  
    He's heard the sex is great and the hallucinations feel more real than with any other drug.   
  
    Maybe it'll be fun.  
  
    Ian reaches for the baggie and holds it in front of his face between his middle and index finger. Mickey doesn't notice as he keeps flipping channels, landing on one that's playing popular songs from the seventies. "Hey, I bet your ex shot the load that made your sister's boyfriend into that drunk old lady's twat to this song," Mickey teases at the sound of 'Love Hurts'  by Nazareth, still not letting go of Ian's past relationship with Ned, even tho it's been years.   
  
    In a quick motion, Ian hops on top of Mickey, straddling his thighs, still holding the bag. "Okay, let's do it." he says, smirking, rising to his knees.  
  
    "Dude, I said we didn't have to," Mickey snorts, dropping the remote and pressing his hands firmly into Ian's chest to hold him upright.  
  
    "Maybe you're just a chicken," Ian teases seductively, leaning downward, forcing Mickey's arms to bend as he presses their lips together.  
  
    The comment drives Mickey to swiftly flip Ian over, bracketing the redhead's waist with his knees, pinning his arms into the mattress. He looks like he wants to eat Ian like a snake with a mouse. Ian bites his lower lip, equally as hungry, and hands Mickey the small, plastic bag.   
  
    Ian seats him on the floor, scooting closer to the small coffee table by the bed as Mickey finds a pair of scissors in the tiny kitchen area of the room and cuts off a small section of a straw he also found. He makes his way back to the table, stopping at the bedside table and retrieving the complimentary bible from it's drawer.   
  
    Mickey sits close to Ian, placing the bible on the wooden table. "Really? A bible?" Ian says unimpressed.  
  
    "Need a flat surface, don't we?" Mickey smirks. Ian knows that's bullshit; he knows it's just one of Mickey's little jabs at all the bible-thumping diehards who spout off about how people like him - them - are gonna burn Hell for their _sodomy_. That thought alone makes Ian regret mentioning the bible at all as Mickey gives a serious look for a moment before redirecting his attention to what's at hand.   
  
    Mickey picks up the small bag and opens it, dumping the powder onto the bible. "You got a card?"  
He asks, nodding towards the wallet he knows is in Ian's back pocket. The redhead reaches for his wallet and looks for one. He pulls out the only thing in his wallet that has a flat, stiff edge: a wallet-sized photo of Liam from last Christmas.  
  
    "Okay, that's _way_ more fucked up than the bible thing," Mickey begins cracking up at Ian's embarrassed smile, but takes the photo none the less.  He divvies the powder into four small, even lines on the bible - one for each nostril - and hands the photo back to Ian, who tucks it back into his wallet and sets the thing on the table.  
  
     _'Season of The Witch'_ by Donovan plays on the TV in the background as Mickey takes it upon himself to go first. He raises the shortened straw, slipping the tip carefully into one nostril and leaning in close over the bible, pressing his index to side of his other nostril. He lines the end of the straw up to the edge of one of the powdered lines and inhales deeply through his nose. It burns like shitty coke, Mickey thinks as he switches nostrils and snorts again.   
  
    He removes the straw and quickly passes it to Ian, itching his nose as he does so. Ian snorts his share of the V and drops the straw on top of the dusty bible, immediately turning to stare intently at Mickey.  
  
    No turning back now.  
  



End file.
